


Intimate Conviction

by darkrogue1 (Lily_Haydee_Lohdisse)



Category: Blake et Mortimer | Blake and Mortimer
Genre: Blake has weird fantasies, Book: Le Sanctuaire du Gondwana | The Gondwana Sanctuary, Established Relationship, Eventual Smut, Light Sadism, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 11:48:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10616295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lily_Haydee_Lohdisse/pseuds/darkrogue1
Summary: When an enemy exchanges his mind with yours and you find yourself in his body, how will you convince your best friend that it is you? Especially when this friend is not a telepath and he is your lover ...WARNINGS : gun threats, explicit sexual relations, sado/masochism, evocation of sensitive subjects such as treatments of prisoners of war contrary to the Geneva Conventions (torture, sexual assault).Beta-read and edited by Blackpenny





	1. Preparations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Blackpenny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackpenny/gifts).
  * A translation of [Intime conviction](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4127083) by [darkrogue1 (Lily_Haydee_Lohdisse)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lily_Haydee_Lohdisse/pseuds/darkrogue1). 



> During the Gondwana Sanctuary:
> 
> \- because we do not see Mortimer! Olrik persuade Blake of his identity and because it seems the writing test had only finished convincing him.  
> \- because if we know that Blake went to the airport at dawn, we don't know at all when Mortimer!Olrik left.  
> \- and especially because of Olrik! Mortimer's behavior (headaches!).  
> And there is of course Mortimer's head in the mirror (http://archiveofourown.org/works/433709) of Taraxacum and Sua-culpa (http://archiveofourown.org/works/344987/chapters/559798) of Malurette.  
> Story in the same universe as Between bubbles (http://archiveofourown.org/works/2665652/chapters/5958329).

Blake is back in London! Mortimer feels his heart pound, full of hope. Olrik might have gone away with his body, but the head of the MI5 certainly has the means to follow, overtake, and intercept him. Most of all, Francis Blake is now finally alone and therefore approachable.

 

Normally, when he is not surrounded by the security of his MI5 colleagues - where Mortimer current appearance means he must avoid all police contact - the captain is always with Olrik. Of course, since he believes that the latter is, in fact, Professor Mortimer, it would have been impossible for Philip to approach him with their enemy's appearance - even disguised - to persuade him of the contrary. The colonel would probably have managed to kill him, or at least wound him in such a way as to prevent him from speaking.

 

Francis is approachable. Mortimer even knows how to enter their apartment without being seen by anyone: after Guinea Pig's intrusion (still and always Olrik!) during the case of the Yellow Mark, Nasir had explained the various possible ways to access their windows on the second floor.

 

All that remains is to find out how to convince him.

 

It seems that Francis Blake does not suspect anything. Olrik is a very good actor, and unfortunately he knows them both all too well. Mortimer closes his eyes for a moment, driving out the image that haunts him: that of his lover in the colonel's arms and at his mercy. Weeks, months have passed since they left him for dead in Antartica. No, Professor Mortimer is an optimist. He will never believe the worst until he has proof of it.

 

How can he convince his friend? From what he saw, Francis Blake is completely immersed in his work, and even though he seemed enthusiastic while speaking with Honeychurch at the airport, he is tense or anxious; the wrinkles on his forehead are more marked than usual. If the behavior of the fake professor worries him, it could be to his advantage.

In any case, he must tell Blake the whole adventure, and for this, he must force him to listen. Mortimer pats the pocket of his overcoat where he has hidden the (illegally gotten) revolver. He has no intention of shooting. He has loaded blank cartridges to avoid any accident and also because the captain would immediately notice if the barrel were empty, but will that suffice?

 

No. Francis is certainly capable of disarming him, and if he is busy watching for an opening, the captain will not really listen to him. He must go for broke and surrender himself entirely to his friend. Threaten him first to attract his attention, then give up the weapon to make the captain listen. Will it work? Perhaps. Mortimer does not really have a choice or a better idea.

 

In addition to his story, what arguments can he put forward to prove his identity? The rain begins to fall and Mortimer takes refuge under a porch. It is late. Francis Blake should not be long. Meanwhile, standing in the shadows, Mortimer remembers the significant moments of their past.

 


	2. Confrontation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So far the story follows the bubbles of The Gondwana Shrine, and from the next chapter on I improvise.

It is very late when Francis Blake finally returns to the 99 Park Lane. He lingers at the entrance only to take off his overcoat and cap, and prepares immediately for bed. The immense apartment feels empty and dead when he is its only inhabitant and he has no desire to occupy a few hours in sullen daydreams in the living room.

 

Very quickly, he finds himself in his bed, seeking sleep. This bed sometimes seems so strange to him - since he spends so much time travelling for work - and tonight that is somewhat the case. This room then only is a place to rest in a souvenirs' museum to him, one he will have to become comfortable with again for the few days or weeks that will stay there.

 

The rain beats on the tiles and the wind makes the window casings creak. Even in the heart of the large, crowded city, the captain feels lonely. A shiver runs through him and he snuggles between his sheets. He is cold and his mind is playing tricks on him: he imagines hearing Philip Mortimer's footsteps in the corridor as he comes to meet up with him, but the professor is currently in Africa!

 

Suddenly, with the slight sound of the bolt rubbing against the latch, the door opens.

 _I am dead._ thinks Blake. _It wasn't the wind._ He waits for the impact of bullets without even stiffening. _Too late to roll under the bed._ But nothing like that happens.

 

On the contrary, the intruder walks quietly into the room. _Not a murderer, then. At least not a mere assassin. Abduction? Murder to conceal as a suicide? Or just a young officer on a training mission?_ So far, he has missed every opportunity; he must redeem himself. _Left-handed? Right-handed? Probably right-handed, I'll have to anticipate._ Silently, motionless, the captain waits for the man's breath to signal that he is close enough, and suddenly, in a lightning movement, Blake straightens up and grabs his visitor's arm. Finally ! Finally a good reaction out of a series of bad ones! The captain cannot help letting out a victorious exclamation. "A little noisy for a thief, old chap!"

 

An uppercut from the left hand cuts his momentum and curbs his enthusiasm. _Professional then. Experienced._ And when the intruder speaks, Francis Blake feels his blood freeze.

"Sorry captain." _Olrik! So his enemy has chased him down into his bedroom!_ "I hope I did not hurt you too much. But I really have to force you to listen to me."

 

 _Why the devil is the colonel here, if not to kill him?_ Suddenly, Francis Blake is glad that Philip is far away on another continent. _Listen to Olrik?_ "If I recognize your voice, as I think I do, it is not your ridiculous disguise which will make me want to speak with you, I'm afraid." He hears himself answering calmly as he seeks a way to free himself from under his blanket.

"The situation is infinitely more complex than you can imagine, captain." _Complex and strange_ , the captain never heard the colonel so ... respectful? "Please, trust me." _Trust_?

"You would like me to trust someone who points a gun at me?"

 

But his old enemy does not react to his outraged exclamation; it’s as if he had expected it. He remains impassive, unmoving, refusing to offer an opening. "I know you are a man of honor. If you give me your word to listen to what I have to reveal to you, I am ready to give you my revolver. "

 

This Blake did not expect. However, the situation must be serious. "Mmh." _Complex, strange and serious. What could cause my worst enemy to put himself at my mercy just for me to listen to him? With the resources he has always been shown to have, what could he not do? What could force him to this extremity? Or is it a trap? I have nothing to lose, I will take the risk_. "Well ... you have my word." He says, lighting his bedside lamp.

 

"Very good." Without hesitation the man in the overcoat puts his weapon on the bed as if just hearing Blake give his word had lifted a weight off him. It is Olrik, however; impossible to be mistaken on this. He does not lower his guard entirely, still facing the captain. The criminal doesn’t seem to be as desperate as the voice in the dark had suggested. While the colonel takes a chair and moves to the side opposite the door, the captain grabs the gun and settles back on his bed.

 

"Well, go ahead, old chap, and try to be convincing if you don't want to end up in prison tonight. "

 

 


	3. Knowing me, knowing you

 

"... and that's how I find myself here tonight." His nocturnal visitor ends his story that, faithful to his word, Francis Blake has listened to to the end.

 

"Unbelievable," he whispers. The captain can hardly believe his ears. Mortimer and Olrik have exchanged their minds? It is hard to swallow. Is the Colonel trying to make him doubt the professor? Trying to divide them to better deceive them?

 

Yet Philip has indeed changed in recent weeks, and this Olrik did not seem to have trouble with his memory.

 

"Unbelievable," he breathes again. So far, everything this man has said seems reasonable, plausible, but Francis Blake dares not believe it. If Olrik is lying and Francis decides to trust him, what a betrayal it would be to Philip, his friends, his country! But if he has spoken the truth, it would mean that he has abandoned his friend, his lover for dead without even worrying about him. Blake dares not think of that!

 

"It is, isn't it?" his interlocutor echoes, "I'd like to try and convince you, though. Amidst all that we shared, there must be things we are the only ones to know. Say… when we met for the first time, we were both saved by Mister Gandhi and you called him a 'funny little fellow.' Absurd to say it, but neither of us knew who he was at the time.*"

 

Francis Blake frowns. Why dig out such an old memory? "Half our servants must have heard this story, if not all the Simla valley."

 

The man in the raincoat nods. "True enough. That you are, at least symbolically, a lord?**"

 

The captain's eyes shroud with pain. "Many people could have had access to this information. We have told too much of this story to too many. Anyone could have made the connection."

 

Olrik sighs, then stares at the captain with a piercing look. "Something more intimate, perhaps?" And as Blake remains impassive, he goes on. "Three years ago, in Athens, while we were staying at the embassy ..."

 

This time Blake reacts, but it is to brutally interrupt: "I'll stop you right there. What happened is public knowledge."

 

"What!?!" The man with the beard chokes.

 

"The window was open and MI6 agents – Well, let's say that this information is known and is even recorded in my file.*** "

 

Blake had never seen Olrik blush like this: right to his ears. "Damn it, Francis!" he exclaims. "Why didn't you tell me?"

 

With fascination, the captain observes his visitor. This reaction is totally the one Mortimer might have had. Olrik might be a very good actor, but to this extent? Can this man truly be Philip Mortimer then? How could he be sure of it?

 

The man in disguise is still quite red under his beard and seems very embarrassed when he goes on. "Is Honeychurch also in the know? Colonel Cartwright? William Steele?" He pauses, blushing again. "Damned! Francis!" He half chokes. "You let me face them in a meeting without warning!*** I was wondering why Cartwright gave me funny looks. This wasn't fair play from you!"

 

The more Olrik flails, the more Francis is convinced: Mortimer is being truthful.

 

"I'm sorry, old chap."

 

The man in the overcoat sighs. "What is done is done, I suppose. But tell me, really. Does Honeychurch know? I will not dare greet him again without blushing."

 

For the first time this evening, Francis Blake lets out a half-amused smile. "Even if he has the security clearance to access my file, I doubt he would have read it recently, and he was not in Greece at that time." What Blake keeps for himself is that he thinks that William Steele has nevertheless informed his assistant of his direct supervisor's indiscretions. After all, it would not be correct to let his colleagues's opinions concern or intimidate Mortimer, if he is speaking to the latter.

 

Little by little, the man with Olrik's face settles. He hesitates, seems to make a decision, and, suddenly determined, resumes speaking.

 

"There is something, Francis, which you told me in strict confidence." He suggests then. "If you had Olrik under your mental control..."

 

He stops and smiles, trying to be seductive. "...I can repeat what you told me or demonstrate if you prefer."

 

Blake cannot repress an instinctive recoil. Horror is clearly visible on his face. He feels a wave of nausea invade him.

 

_It is Mortimer._

 

 

 

* see The Sarcophagi of the Sixth Continent.

** see The Oath of the Five Lords.

*** see Between Bubbles.

**** see The Voronov Plot


	4. Mon premier c'est désir

_It is Mortimer._

 

Philip would never have spoken of this to anyone. It is Mortimer, and that means he has betrayed his friend, left him for dead.

 

In his shock the captain has relaxed his arm. He barely holds the weapon anymore and it rests half in his hand and half on the bed.

 

The visitor has noticed Blake's trouble and grins bitterly. "Yes, it's probably a bad idea." He gestures towards his body. "After all, if Olrik is as faithful as he is loyal - " He moves forward in his seat and puts his hand on the captain's. "I would never want to put you at risk, Francis, not for anything in the world."

 

The contact is strange, foreign. If he knows the rest of his preferences, if he somehow had access to his file and the information in it, Olrik could have guessed, but for what purpose?

 

"Francis."

 

The captain is beset by doubt. Everything confirms that this is Mortimer, but he is reluctant to believe it.

 

The colonel approaches his chair and places his left hand on the captain's right, freeing his other hand which he moves towards Blake's right flank, brushing the fabric of his pajamas at the level of the last ribs. He then raises his eyes to meet his friend's and Francis Blake feels tears rise to his eyes.

 

" _Philip_ ," he murmurs.

 

Olrik could not have guessed, not that. A few months ago, the last time before this whole episode, they had let themselves get slightly carried away by passion and the professor had left him a bruise on the flank just there. Nothing important, it had disappeared quickly, but Philip never liked to see that kind of mark on his body, even though Blake had begged him to inflict them.

 

It is Philip Mortimer who stares with intensity. The eyes of this man burn through him and Blake shudders. Faltering, he leans forward and let their lips touch.

 

The simple contact turns into a feverish kiss, desperate on both sides. It has been so long! Blake feels desire invading him. Perhaps he is no longer used to celibacy, perhaps he tries to forget all their problems of the moment, or he simply wants to find the contact again, the connection that they have both shared.

 

Mortimer is in the same state and when their lips separate, he rests his forehead on the captain’s.

 

"Do you think we should…" he murmurs.

 

And Blake finishes for him. "... undress." He nods and starts to unbutton his top as Mortimer stands up to take off his overcoat.

 

Once his shirt is undone, Blake raises his head and looks at Mortimer who, upon rolling up his sleeves, has crossed the room to open the drawer at the bottom of the dresser where they store their special supplies.

 

But the man who turns towards him with a satisfied smile, holding a tube of the cream they use as lubricant, this man is not Mortimer.

 

Blake only sees Olrik and freezes, as petrified as if he had seen Medusa.

 

Immediately the colonel rushes to his side and sits back down in his chair, dropping the tube and taking his hand.

 

Worry is visible on Olrik's face, but Blake is beset by doubt again.

 

"Do you believe me, Francis?" the man asks softly.

 

Blake shakes his head. "I don't have any more reasonable doubt ..." It must be Philip Mortimer. No one else could have known the last mark he had left on his body.

 

"... but you are not entirely convinced." Mortimer finishes for him.

 

And as Blake is about to continue, to explain that even though he believes Mortimer, something inside him is still screaming that he should never, ever trust Olrik, the professor puts a finger on his lips.

 

"I understand, Francis." In his eyes, Blake reads that Mortimer does, indeed, understand. "Let me convince you." He reaches out again to the captain's side, looking at him questioningly before putting his hand on his bare chest.

 

 _This is Philip Mortimer. You can trust him_. And locking eyes with the professor, Francis Blake agrees.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * my first is desire / lyrics from the «  désir désir  » song https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6LgYEz0Td1k


	5. Mon deuxième du plaisir, mon troisième c'est souffrir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * My second is pleasure. My third is suffering. See previous chapter. Same song reference.

 

With the closeness of his friend, desire has returned. Even if what he sees is not the professor's familiar appearance, the way he touches his chest, his cheek, the rhythm of his caresses are the same.

 

Oh, how Blake would like to hold Mortimer in his arms, kiss him, distract him, and make him lose his head as Blake has lost his. But the body he has in front of him is that of Olrik and Blake is already far too lost to give himself another difficulty to apprehend. Mortimer seems to have already understood that, seeing that he has bared nothing more than his forearms.

 

While Captain Blake indulges in these reflections, Mortimer's strokes get lower and when he lays his hand on Blake’s budding erection, the captain, stricken by the surprise of what he feels, the heat, the weight, the slight friction of his pajamas, bites his lip to repress a moan of pleasure.

 

Mortimer then stops all movement and Blake looks up at him. Mortimer opens his mouth to speak, then closes it, wavering. Then he breathes out, pointing to the garment that still partially covers his lover. "Do you want this off ?"

 

It is only a murmur in which Blake cannot recognize Olrik's tone, however he cannot help but regret that it is not his really friend's voice.

 

And as he complies, he apologizes for his lack of reciprocity: "Thank you, old chap. I promise you that as soon as you have your body back, I will make it up to you."

 

He is sincere. He wants to. Philip Mortimer's pleasure and happiness are his as well. But to his delight, his lover is someone who returns the favor, someone who even goes against his own inclinations - just a little, never too much - to fulfill his desires.

 

"Ahh!"

 

As if he had guessed his thoughts Philip has pinched his torso, twisting the skin, the pain increasing Blake’s pleasure, his desire.

 

It is a means on which they have agreed: Francis Blake likes to suffer, Philip Mortimer does not want to cause any damage to his lover. If there had been a need for further confirmation, it would be this one. Francis Blake is certain of the identity of his partner.

 

Suddenly the latter hesitates, then stops completely. He looks Blake in the eyes and then turns his glance away. "Francis," he asks, "I'm really sorry, but I can not contain my curiosity. I… that is… did you and Olrik?" He leaves his sentence suspended, not knowing how to end it.

 

Blake closes his eyes to contain the difficult memories of the past months. "No, Philip. You said… " the captain pauses before he resumes, ”he said he had headaches every time I started on that topic." How frustrating it had been! And with the professor's sudden revival of interest for Nastasia and Sarah, Blake had come to believe that Mortimer had changed his mind, that his lover no longer wanted him.

 

Mortimer lets out a sigh of reassurance. "My dear Francis, forgive me for being relieved to know that. Who knows what Olrik could have done with this power over you!" And he resumes his caresses with enthusiasm.

 

Blake tries to relax, to ignore that he has just heard Olrik's voice, but he is painfully aware that the person sitting at his side is not Mortimer, or at least that it is not his body. Yet the rhythm set by the hands touching him is indeed a familiar one.

 

He closes his eyes and tries to block these disturbing signals out, but as he focuses on touch, he only realizes the more that it is not the same. The rhythm is the right one, but the skin texture, the calluses, the size of the fingers pinching him, the weight of the hand resting on his sex, the grip enclosing it, none of this is Mortimer.

 

Controlling himself, Blake takes a deep breath in, and suddenly and frantically opens his eyes again: even the smell is wrong!

 

Mortimer seems to understand his turmoil and pauses for a moment to caress his friend's cheek with a tender gesture of apology. While doing so, he scrutinizes Blake's face to assess if his discomfort is too great, and if they should stop their activities.

 

It is reassuring for Blake to recognize this moment of pause and Mortimer's piercing look, this familiar moment of particular attention in his partner. Another reminder of their shared intimacy, of his companion's identity.

 

And on a slight nod from Blake, Mortimer straightens up and grabs forgotten cream tube on the bed.

 

Blake hisses through his teeth at the sudden cold when Mortimer applies some generously to his shaft. And he slightly spreads his legs when his lover lets his fingers slide lower, over the perineum, to tracing circles around his anus.

 

"Hmm?" Mortimer does not speak so as not to break the atmosphere with the voice of their eternal enemy, and Blake nods again.

 

Mortimer re-applies lubricant around and on his fingers, then penetrates his lover, slowly, with two fingers directly and Blake revels in the discomfort it causes, lightly arcing from pleasure.

 

Patiently, Mortimer stretches the muscle, moving and spreading the fingers of his right hand while his left hand alternates between stroking Blake's sex or pinching his chest, his hips, his thighs.

 

He adds lubricant and gradually increases the number, the spread of his fingers and the depth of his assaults to press against Blake’s prostate. Each movement adds to Blake's pleasure, while each pinch and twinge adds to his desire through a tender pain.

 

For long minutes, Mortimer alternates thus, spreading his fingers until is becomes uncomfortable, pressing against the prostate of his lover, caressing him, pinching him, and Blake swims in an ocean of pleasure, so intense that it almost becomes painful. Wherever Mortimer's fingers have pinched him, he still feels an intense heat that now covers his chest, arms, and thighs and each caress echoes the sensation. Yet he fails to reach his peak. Something holds him back, reminds him that the hands that manipulate him are not Mortimer's, and that Olrik must never ever be trusted.

 

His partner must have felt his frustration because he presses his fingers against his prostate for a long time, sending a discharge of painful pleasure and temporarily attenuating his other senses.

 

Suddenly, taking advantage of this window of inattention, the man takes his left hand off Blake, seizes the forgotten weapon on the bed and, with the same movement, pulls out his false beard before aiming the weapon at him.

 

Olrik, it is Olrik with his cruel and mocking smile that threatens him with his revolver, his false beard still hanging under one ear! Blake remains petrified, his eyes round with incomprehension, lost in the burning excitement of desire.

 

It's Olrik! Olrik, who still penetrates him with his fingers. He spreads them then, more than before, without causing any real damage but sending a touch of pain - of pleasure - through Blake.

 

"It seems that this time, you are totally at my mercy, captain,” the colonel jibes.

 

Blake is lost. He no longer understands the contradictory information that his brain is sending him. Was it not Mortimer?

 

"Have you ever wondered," continues Olrik, almost nonchalantly while pressing his fingers brutally against the prostate of the man he torments, causing a thrill throughout Blake's body, "if the professor Mortimer had already found himself in that exact position." He punctuates his sentence with another press of his fingers before going on in a sadistic tone, stroking lightly the captain's thigh with the barrel of his weapon. "Entirely at my mercy?”

 

An involuntary spasm of the muscle follows the brushing of the gun on the captain's thigh, and yes, yes, Blake has already asked himself that question. Mortimer never went into the details of the weeks he had spent in captivity, and his medical record only includes the tortures which had left physical marks.

 

Hearing their enemy describe the scene, Blake can imagine it. Mortimer lying like him on his back, under the threat of a weapon, sexually aroused and his face twisted with pain and rage.

 

Olrik snickers and spreads his fingers harder. And the exquisite spike of pain makes Blake cross over the edge, his mind full of Mortimer's image, and in his ecstasy he chokes on a cry that ends in a moan.

 

Without even waiting for the end of the captain's orgasm, Olrik cautiously pulls his fingers out and puts the gun down on the bed. Then, pulling back his chair, he takes a handkerchief out to wipe his hands, opens his fly and releases his own erection.

 

He is already overexcited and a few movements of back and forth are enough to make him reach his own orgasm, ejaculating into the handkerchief he holds in front of him.

 

For a time, the only audible sound in the room is that of their breathing.

 

Finally, Blake breaks the silence. "Philip?" he asks, still lying down.

 

"Yes?"

 

"Is ..." A pause. "Never mind. It's nothing." This is neither the place nor the moment to ask a question when’s not even sure he wants the answer.

 

After catching their breath, they try each on their own to make themselves a little more presentable.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think there was anything like that between Olrik and Mortimer, who probably would have been much more traumatized. The professor is simply playing with the captain's fantasies.


	6. On scientific ground

Suddenly, Philip Mortimer laughs as he finishes removing the false beard still dangling under his ear. A fresh, relaxed laugh that Francis Blake would never have thought he would hear coming from the Colonel Olrik's mouth.

 

"Ha," he says when he manages to catch his breath. "Either I have proof in me that love is a function of the brain and not of the heart, or what Olrik feels to you is not only emnity, Francis!" And he begins to laugh anew, his friend willingly joining him.

 

But suddenly he stops, as if struck by a sudden inspiration.

 

"Brain!" He exclaims.

 

Mortimer rushes to the secretary to look for something to write on. The expression on his face makes him look much younger: this is the expression that Mortimer usually has when he makes an exciting discovery.

 

"Francis, you use graphology in your services,” he explains as he furiously writes a few lines he then gives to his friend. "So you must know that a person's writing can give insight into their way of thinking."

 

"Of course!" exclaims Captain Blake, grasping the paper on which the following lines are inscribed in Professor Mortimer's familiar writing.

 

_My dear Francis,_

 

_Doubt all that you want, but never the deep friendship that binds us. Whatever happens, be at least certain of that. With all my love._

 

And a signature. _Philip_

 

Francis Blake feels the tears rise to his eyes. This time he is completely and totally convinced.

 

"I never liked to doubt you, Philip, and I will not do it again." He gets up from the bed to warmly embrace his friend.

 

Then, lowering his head, the captain swallows painfully. "I'm deeply sorry,” he says. "Can you ever forgive me?"

 

"What should I forgive?" The professor asks, surprised.

 

"That I left you for dead. That I never noticed …"

 

Mortimer interrupts him immediately: "You are completely forgiven, Francis. Do not worry. You had no way of knowing. And if our situations had been reversed, I'm sure I would not have done any better." And in turn he pulls his lover into his arms to assure him of his sincerity.

 

"So,” Francis finally says in his most serious voice after they have resumed some distance. "Let's get to it! I suppose you want your body back at least as much as I do, Philip."

 

The two men then set about organizing their plan to catch and intercept the colonel while ensuring the recovery of the transferring machine.

 

\---

  
  


Shortly before dawn Francis watches his friend leave under the guise of the infamous colonel with a touch of concern.

 

Then the captain sits at his desk to write the message he will send expressly to Professor Labrousse and the instructions he will leave to his deputy. When he's done, he calls for a taxi and gets dressed, taking the suitcase he did not even have time to unpack the day before. In the hall, he passes their landlady and entrusts her with the letter for David Honeychurch.

 

He did not sleep that night, but never mind that: he will catch up on the plane.

 

For once, he is sure of it: he will have no trouble sleeping, assured that wherever he is in the world, Philip Mortimer's feelings for him remain unchanged.

 


End file.
